


It's Not My Fault!

by mitsukai613



Series: Fault Series [1]
Category: The Dresden Files - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Johnny has newly loosened lips, M/M, and no inhibitions, aphrodisiac on Little Chicago, but it's not Harry's fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1620863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukai613/pseuds/mitsukai613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being forced by Bob to make an aphrodisiac, Harry proceeds to spill said aphrodisiac all over Little Chicago, luckily not getting it inside any of the buildings, so only those outside were affected. He's planning on just hiding in his basement until the effects wear off at sunrise the next morning, but this becomes rapidly impossible as he first gets a phone call and then a series of visitors, the most notable of which is one Gentleman Johnny Marcone. And of course he just had to be outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so here's the fic that's basically a placeholder for the SI sequel that I've promised (and have actually started writing, don't worry) that is being posted mostly so I don't go another, like, month or something without existing around here. 
> 
> Also, I've gotten requests to do a sequel to my Hobbit fic, and more Hobbit fics, so I'm getting plans for those written up. In addition, I've got a really neat Star Trek fic in the works, although I'll probably wait to work on that until I get all those sequels finished, because, you know, obviously I live to please, I guess? Anyway, I hope you all enjoy, and, uh, sorry, but I'm never going to be good at titles.

                It wasn’t like I _meant_ to do it, okay? It could’ve happened to anyone! No, no, I’m serious this time; it’s not some weird Wizard thing again. Well, okay, it kind of is, but it isn’t _really._ This isn’t helping is it? Probably not; I have this feeling that I’m just rambling again, but you’d totally understand why, if you knew what had happened. I really, really don’t want to talk about it again. Ever. I just wanted to hide in my basement and not move. At all. Anywhere. At least not until sunrise tomorrow. Yup. That’s normal, right? I’m pretty sure it’s normal. You’re… you’re going to make me explain what happened, aren’t you? 

Okay, well, to start off with, if you want to blame somebody, blame Bob. He’s the one who made me make the stupid potion in the first place, you know? He always does stuff like that, makes me make things I don’t want to, as if I’ll ever use them. This one was… okay, so, you know he thinks I need to get laid, right? Well, it was… uh, you know, it was sort of an aphrodisiac. Yeah. A pretty potent one, if I do say so myself. Oh, right, I shouldn’t be bragging about that, should I? Probably not. Ahem. Anyway.

                I was planning on staying right down in my lab until sunrise the next day, which would wipe the effects away, and, also, protect me from the wrath of everyone I knew who would maybe probably be just a tiny, tiny bit upset. At least this wasn’t breaking any of the Laws of Magic, so I didn’t have to worry about the whole Queen of Hearts routine the Council seemed to like performing.

                I mean, really, the only bad thing about any of it was that I had to listen to Bob, who had not stopped laughing at all since I tripped over some plastic bottle (yeah, that’s good; maybe it’s actually Molly’s fault!) and the purplish potion splattered all over Little Chicago. Literally all over it. I didn’t even know liquid could splatter that much before then. I guess I should just count myself lucky that none of it landed on me. I’m thinking about breaking Bob over Little Chicago and seeing if that fixes anything, though. I mean, if nothing else it’ll shut him up.

                Anyway, I was figuring on hopefully no one leaving their house that day to beat me up and otherwise harm my person and my feelings for my little accident (also, wouldn’t this make an absolutely wonderful story? I mean, screw all that epic Merlin adventure shit; the stories should be honest, and the honest truth is we Wizards really aren’t that wise. Mostly we just fuck around for a few hundred years and laugh about it later.), but really, when does anything go my way? No, no, I shouldn’t ever expect that! I’d only been hiding down in my subbasement for about twenty minutes before I heard my phone ringing, and, well, they were already going to be pissed with me. I didn’t think I should make it any worse by, you know, ignoring their calls. So I walked upstairs and answered it. When I found out who was on the other end, I really, really wished I hadn’t.

                “Hello?” I asked, honestly nervous and I say I have good reason for that.

                “Harry.” It was Michael. Of course it was Michael. Hell’s Bells, someone up there really, really hates me. 

                “Erm,” I tried, and he sighed.

                “I believe you know what I’m calling you about?” I blinked slowly and squirmed even though the effect was lessened by the fact that he couldn’t see me.

                “Is everyone in your house attempting to have wild sex?” Silence reigned. Well, not quite silence; the line was still protesting my continued existence with loud cracks and pops, more so probably for the spilled potion, but, um, yeah. It was still disconcerting.

                “No. There are simply multiple couples, and some clumps of what appears to be three or more people, copulating on my front yard.” I blinked again. Why wasn’t he affected? I mean, I knew he was a godly kind of guy, and all, but me spilling that on my little model should’ve been the equivalent of me throwing a bottle on every person _in_ the city, and I was pretty sure that no amount of Michael-ness could protect Michael from a direct hit of that. Oh, wait! I’d only spilled it on top of the buildings, not in them, so that had probably offered protection. Cool! Oh. I mean. Disregard that. I’m sorry. I’m deeply, deeply sorry. Yeah. Moving on.

                “Yeah, you guys were all inside, so, uh, it probably didn’t affect you. Anyone outside, though… well, you see the effects. Just, keep everyone inside until sunrise tomorrow. And, you know, close your curtains. Molly was inside, right?” He sighed.

                “Thankfully. May I ask what happened?” I flinched.

                “Potions accident. Bob made me do it.” I assume he would’ve pointed out the fact that it’s really hard for something somebody made you do to be considered an accident, but I didn’t let him. “Again, just, stay inside until sunrise tomorrow and it’ll all be good. Beyond possibly some property damage, depending on how insane people get. Bye.” And then I hung up. I’m very brave, and noble, if you couldn’t tell.

                So, after that cornerstone of awkwardness and self-loathing, I was going to go bury myself alive in my basement, possibly underneath the concrete instead of just some blankets, but that, obviously, didn’t work out. See, someone was hammering at my door. Really, really insistently. I shouldn’t be surprised anymore, should I? I don’t think so. I opened it carefully and warily, really seriously considering getting one of those cool things you see in kids’ spy movies, where, like, you could pull down the little view thing and see who was outside. Or just a peephole. Of course, someone would probably manage to shoot me through it, so never mind.

                I didn’t exactly have reason to be afraid of who was on the other side anyway, at least not in the traditional sense. I mean, yeah, Murphy will threaten to kill me on a regular basis, but she’d never actually do it. I’m not worth the prison time. I did sort of have to worry about her really, really hurting me, though. Especially since Kincaid was as attached to her as a very determined leech. And by determined I mean he didn’t even react when Murphy kicked him in the balls. Twice. I stared.

                “Dresden!” she finally barked, and I finally managed to get over my shock enough to try to separate them. It worked, just not, you know, in the way I was hoping. See, he was off Murphy, yeah, or half of him was, but the other half was attached to me.

                “This why you were dragging me all the way here? Wanted to bring this pretty piece into the mix? That’s alright.” I wriggled and jerked, and Murphy growled.

                “You want to explain why I’ve had this fucking mercenary trying to hump my leg the whole way here, Dresden? Or maybe why he’s trying to hump your leg now?” I blubbered. I’ll admit it. I blubbered. Pathetically. Like, big watery eyes and everything. I really didn’t want to explain this again. I wondered how quickly she’d kill me after I explained. I hoped it’d at least be fast.

                “It’s not my fault!” I yelled, carefully avoiding Kincaid’s hand, which was straying dangerously closely to my ass, and his mouth, which was rather noticeably attempting to make contact with my neck. “Bob’s an asshole! And Molly left shit cluttering my floor! And everyone knows I’m clumsy, so why would they do that, huh? The universe is conspiring against me and it is totally not my fault!” Murphy looked… not at all impressed by that. I didn’t blame her; I wasn’t exactly impressed either. And Kincaid just didn’t seem to care because he had apparently decided that he had two asses that were far more worthy of his attention, and he’d finally stopped trying to get me to stop dancing on his foot.

                “Quit squirming,” he grumbled, his face now in Murphy’s hair, and he jerked my hard once to send me stumbling into the both of them. Also, P.S., he might like his guns more than his muscles, but that definitely doesn’t mean he’s a slouch in the exercise department. Why is it that I’m surrounded with buff men? It doesn’t seem fair, somehow. Is it just another way that someone out there has found to laugh at me? Probably. Anyway.

                He had a hand at my hip, squeezing gently, then releasing, then squeezing again in some kind of weird, cyclic massage. I hooked my leg around the back of his knee and pulled it hard, the movement probably hurting me just as much as it hurt him, but it threw him off balance enough that I was able to wiggle loose. Murphy proceeded to elbow him in the jaw and dance away from his suddenly grasping hands as he lost the both of us. He crossed his arms and glared at us, shifting his weight from foot to foot, obviously thinking of the best strategy to renew his grip on us, but to be honest, I already knew that wasn’t happening. The look on Murphy’s face told me so.

                “Where’s Ivy?” I finally decided to ask him as he swayed, and this surprised look shot across his face before he laughed.

                “You were worried about her? Why didn’t you say so, Dresden? She never left the hotel room today, kept her all nice and secure, wards on the door and everything. She’s safe. Now, come here, and bring Karrin with you.” I only forzare’d him a little, I promise. Not even enough to break a rib. Just, you know, enough to propel him out of my house. And maybe a little more, so he’d be far enough away that I could shut my door before he ran back inside. After that, it was pretty much just a matter of pulling the wards back up with Murphy giving me a very particular brand of murderous gaze that really had me worried about all the blunt objects in my apartment.

                “So,” I tried, bouncing on the balls of my feet, and Murphy just crossed her arms.

                “Dresden. Explain, in detail, exactly what happened and how you plan on fixing it.” I flushed, I know I did, the red staining my cheeks and probably drifting down to my neck too.

                “Bob, um… alright, so I was making a potion, okay? Totally innocuous, just a little pick-me-up that I could keep for a rainy day. Except I didn’t remember how to do it, and there’s no new romance novels out that Bob wants, so he made me make an aphrodisiac before he told me how to do it, and I would’ve just put it under the desk with all the others he’s made me make, but as I was bottling it, I tripped on a bottle Molly must’ve dropped on the floor the last time she came here and I spilled it on little Chicago, so anyone who happened to be outside when I did that… well, basically it’s having the same effect on them as if I’d just thrown the bottle on them directly. It’ll be done by sunrise, though.” She stared at me.

                “Every time I think you’re anything close to normal, Dresden, you manage to surprise me with how spectacularly fucking stupid you are. How the hell have you managed to live this long? You’re like a meerkat. Or, better yet, you’re a moth who perpetually finds every bug zapper on the face of the planet and decides to poke it for a while.” You know what’s sad? When someone tells you something like that and you can’t even defend yourself because, actually, it’s pretty true. Don’t ever be like me, kids.

                “I… honestly, you’re right. I’m not even going to bother arguing.” She snorted.

                “So, what, you can’t do anything about this?”

                “Well, I could try, but anything I could do would be sort of worthless, since it would take me way longer than until sunrise tomorrow to get it ready. For once, I think it’s better if I just leave it alone and let it run its course. So, yeah, unless you want to try your luck out there again, you’re stuck in here with me until then.” She stared at me again, or, more accurately, she hadn’t stopped yet. “I’m sorry?” I tried again, and she laughed.

                “It’s really hard to be mad at you for shit like this, you know that, right? You’re too earnest.” I blinked.

                “So you’re not going to beat me up?”

                “Not in your own house, no. I’ll get plenty of that at aikido training this weekend.” Oh. That… I was pretty sure she wasn’t actually doing me any favors with that. I didn’t want to piss her off again, or anymore, though, so I didn’t mention it.

                “Thanks? So, are you hungry or anything? We’re kind of going to be here for a while.” She rolled her eyes, a half smile tilting her lips, and nodded.

                “Yeah, why not? A TV dinner sounds as good as anything.” I might’ve pouted, but only a little.

                “I was planning on cooking, actually. I have real food in the house, so I was going to make use of it.” Surprise flitted behind her blue eyes for a quick moment but she tucked it away quickly. She always did; she prided herself on being unflappable even in the face of me, of my magic, and in all that I did. I thought it was kind of funny that something as simple as me not surviving on frozen food could garner even that much of a reaction from her, though. She finally just shook her head.

                “As long as you don’t poison me.” I grinned and wandered into my kitchen, noting how low the food and water bowls for my critters had gotten and filling them thoughtlessly before I got the woodstove burning and pulled a bunch of random crap out of my icebox, not really even looking to see what it was before I got it on the counter. Although, it was all in new, clean packaging, inside which nothing looked pre-cooked, so I figured it was what I’d been after, or close enough that it didn’t matter. I drifted around and felt her watching me, but I wasn’t really aware of it. I never was, doing something menial like this; I got lost in it, in the sensation of normalcy and familiarity, and everything else fell far, far away. This was probably the only thing that made me wish I had more money, so I could keep fresh food in the apartment and feel like this more often.

                Someone started banging on my door as soon as I got everything prepped and on the stove, though, and that obviously broke me from my trance.

                “Watch that food, Murph,” I said, sweeping out of the kitchen and to the door, and she narrowed her eyes at me. I didn’t exactly care if I’d offended her just then, though; I usually didn’t when something even remotely dangerous was happening, and this was, despite the humor of it, dangerous. I had no idea how that potion would react with the more magical elements in Chicago, and if one of them came after me hopped up on it… I didn’t want her to get hurt for me. Kincaid, I knew he wouldn’t actually do anything. He was an asshole, but not that particular kind; see, he’d seduce as hard as he could, yeah, because the potion did lower inhibitions, but it didn’t change natures. Some other things that wandered around Chicago, though? I didn’t trust their nature like I trusted his. I opened the door slowly, cautiously, and found Thomas on the other side. I relaxed just a little, and yes, in hindsight, I do realize that that was actually really, really stupid of me.

                This wasn’t the stupid mistake that actually did me in, though, because he obviously wasn’t affected by the potion, considering he had this really, really impressive chain of people following him and he wasn’t doing anything to them.

                “Harry, help,” he said, and I stepped aside to let him in and slammed it shut seconds before my house would’ve been swarmed with a lot of really excited people who apparently loved my brother rather a lot. They beat against the door for a few minutes before it fell suspiciously silent, Thomas beside me clutching at his chest and breathing heavily, his skin a touch too pale and his eyes swirling. I realized then that he’d probably been having to fight not to do anything, with the lust battering him like that. Murphy glanced at us suspiciously where she stood by the stove, but I shook my head.

                “You good, Thomas? Is there anything you need?”

                “Yeah. Stay over there for a while. Both of you. Whatever’s going on with those people outside, I’m not affected by that, but the feelings… give me a second to get it under control.” I waited a little and finally he nodded, so I stepped over to him and led him to the couch. “Empty Night, what’s going on, anyway? I just walked out of my apartment to go open the salon and suddenly I was being swarmed. I figured you had something to do with it, and that you could help me, so I ran straight here.” I was not explaining this again. No. It was bad enough the first two times. I am simply not doing it again. Ever.

                “Potions accident. Let’s leave it at that. It’ll be over by sunrise, so you can stay here with me and Murphy until then.” He grinned, the look of it vulpine on his face.

                “Sure I won’t be intruding?” he asked, and I rolled my eyes and shoved him.

                “Shut up, asshole. I’m cooking, you want anything?”

                “If you’ve got extra.” I snorted and took my place in front of the stove back, and no one spoke until I finished with the meal. Murphy, I could see, was a little leery of Thomas still. She always had been, really, even after she found out what was going on with us. Then, she was leery of most people that weren’t me or Michael, or a few of the people she worked with in SI. It was understandable, with some of the stuff she’d seen and lived through. Still, the silence was grating at me, so I got the plates together and the food on them quick-like, then carried them back into the living room where I sat between them on the couch to play mediator.

                Murphy took a bite of the meal on her plate and I got that surprised look from her again, while Thomas, who had eaten my food while living with me, just ate without comment like I did.

                “It’s _good_ ,” she said, like that was the biggest surprise of the century, and I was maybe a little offended. I mean, who wouldn’t be? It wasn’t like I was that incompetent.

                “Wow, thanks, Murph.” She sighed and shook her head.

                “I didn’t mean it like that, Dresden.” I laughed.

                “Yeah, yeah. Thanks; I’m glad that my years of practice have paid off.” She elbowed me, which caused me to elbow Thomas, so we all had a small elbow war. And, yes, I promise we’re not secretly six years old. That’d be really irresponsible, letting three six year olds live on their own in Chicago. We’re at least ten.

                Eventually, though, after we finished the food, simple silence and childishness wasn’t doing it for Thomas anymore.

                “Are you sure you won’t explain what happened?” he finally said, and I glared at the floor. It was, after all, partially the floor’s fault, for supporting the stupid bottle that had tripped me so mercilessly. I stayed resolutely, stonily silent, and Murphy finally decided to speak up for me.

                “Our resident klutzy wizard somehow managed to spill an aphrodisiac that his magical talking skull made him make all over his magical model of Chicago, and so everyone who was outdoors suddenly wants to bang anything they see. Apparently.” And even she didn’t sound angry anymore, but rather bemused, like, wow, only you, Harry, only you. Which, I will admit, is probably true. Or, at least, I’m the only wizard on the planet who’d actually be willing to admit to something quite this moronic. Thomas stared at me for a minute as if processing this new information, but then he was laughing even harder than Bob had. I was actually worrying that his lungs would explode while I attempted to combust myself with the force of my blushing.

                “Aw, look at him! He’s so embarrassed! Isn’t it adorable?” Thomas asked through his laughter, and I was seriously afraid that he was going to start pinching my cheeks because yeah, he has done that before, the asshole. I squirmed where I sat, and Murphy was laughing too, then, and eventually I couldn’t help it either because sometimes all the ridiculous, madcap aspects of my life are pretty damn funny. At least when they’re not about to kill me. And sometimes when they are. That thought made me laugh harder and we were all leaning against each other as we did it, a pile of helpless joy on my comfy couch, and maybe this particular screw up wasn’t so bad after all. We were only just settling down again when I got another frantic knock and stood, figuring it was probably the Alphas, or Butters, or someone else who wanted to know why everyone was having a massive orgy in the streets, and I was ready to explain everything with a grin, a shrug, and an oopsy-daisy, but that didn’t exactly work out too well because oh, hey, I was on the floor. And someone was on top of me. I… probably needed to deal with that. Yeah. Ahem.

                So, yeah, about that someone. I couldn’t tell who it was right away because they’d gotten me onto the floor pretty fast and my vision swam with the sudden fall. I could tell that it was a man, though, from the weight of him and from the fact that something decidedly male was pressing into my hip bone, and when I put my hands on his shoulders to try and roll whoever it was off of me, I felt hard, tight muscle and broadness, which, again, was a pretty masculine feature. I managed to dislodge whoever it was only slightly, but that was enough for me to wiggle out from under him and back to my feet and damn it, my door was still open. I lurched over to it to push it shut because a crowd was drawing (which was decidedly bad) and then decided that I was never opening my door again and I was definitely going to have to fix my wards because, whoever this was, they shouldn’t have been able to get in here. And then I got slammed into my own door and most of my thoughts went out the window because mystery shoulder man was kissing me. Yeah, no. I pushed him away again and was finally able to see who it was. I almost wished I hadn’t, though, because this was a face I recognized, and that I recognized too well.

                Marcone. Gentleman Johnny Marcone, Chicago’s resident kingpin and criminal overlord scumbag. In my house. Tackling me. And kissing me. I was never making another potion again. I stepped back a little, towards my couch where Thomas and Murphy were finally standing to help me as they realized what was going on, and Marcone stalked towards me slowly, his chest heaving, his eyes screaming “predator”.

                This was what I’d seen his soul, the tiger fully bared and flashing teeth. I kept walking backwards, and I’ll tell you now that it’s hard to make a guy with my size and my power feel like prey, but he was managing it pretty well, especially when I stumbled on a wrinkle in a rug and had to pinwheel my arms to catch myself. He locked onto the moment of weakness like he was built to do it and jumped at me again, his arms going tight around my waist to pull me against him. I yelped and squirmed, wondering why this was bothering me so much more than when Kincaid had done it. I guess it was because with Kincaid, I sort of expected it; he’d sleep with anything. Marcone, though… I’d always figured he’d have better taste. Distantly, I heard Murphy and Thomas sharing quick, muffled curses as they came at us and Thomas yanked Marcone off while Murphy yanked me away.

                “Fuck,” Marcone snarled, arching and twisting in Thomas’ grasp but held fast because hey, Thomas might look like a pretty boy, but he’s got vampire strength underneath his annoying model façade. Also, I was pretty sure that was the first time I’d ever heard Marcone swear. It was sort of surreal. I hold that as the reason why I was all wide eyed where Murphy had me held by the wrist a few feet away, across the apartment.

                “What the hell, Marcone?” I finally asked, watching as he somehow got enough leverage to land a pretty solid looking kick to the front of Thomas’ leg. Anyone else probably would’ve been forced to let him go at that, but Thomas only gripped him tighter.

                “Hold still,” Thomas snarled, and Marcone jerked again before he lapsed into a long diatribe of words in a language I could in no way understand but that sounded, somehow, absolutely filthy. I had no doubt that Thomas had just been called some very insulting things in Italian and could only stare as it happened. Since when did Marcone speak Italian? Uh… that’s… now that I’ve asked that, it sounds like a really stupid question. Forget I said anything. Anyway. So, Marcone kept struggling, I kept staring, and nothing made any more sense than it had five minutes before when all this started.

                Plus, at that point, I was kind of wondering where Gard and Hendricks were. They were attached to him at the hip, and his office was in no way near my house, yet here he was, all alone. Had they been surgically separated without me hearing about it, somehow? I thought about it for a minute longer before I had a sudden, and frankly horrifying realization.

                Hendricks liked Gard. Gard, from the few instances I’d seen her, liked Hendricks. I’d spilled an aphrodisiac that had obviously affected Marcone, and since his bodyguards were always with him, I’d affected them too. And they liked each other. Please remind me to never think about what this probably means ever, ever again. It’s way too terrifying. I might’ve even shuddered a little. Anyhow. Marcone was talking again, and also being a wiggly son of a bitch, so I figured I needed to deal with that again.

                “Shit, Harry, when I get loose, I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to make you scream for me; I always imagine that you’re loud, in bed. Desperate, skin hungry. I’ve heard stories before, about a wizard’s truly… amazing stamina, but I’d keep at you until you couldn’t feel anything else, until my name was the only thing that could pass your lips. I’d kiss you until I knew every inch of you, until you knew me in the same way. You wouldn’t be able to move when I was through with you. You’d blow out the whole damn neighborhood when I made you lose your control over all that magic.” He strained harder against Thomas’ hold as he riled himself into something like a frenzy, his green eyes wide and vibrant like I’d never seen them. He looked… younger, like that, younger than he should have despite the dignified lines around his mouth and his eyes.

                Thomas looked absolutely disgusted, at that point, and finally just slapped his hand over Marcone’s mouth to make him fall silent, although the anger in his eyes told me that he was pretty close to biting the other man. Of course, Thomas also looked angry, and I in no way wanted to see those two predators start snapping at each other in my living room, so I figured I needed to intervene again. Especially considering Murphy looked basically broken where she stood beside me. I sighed. No way in hell could I just throw him out, though; he was too… well, I didn’t trust him, like this, with no inhibition. I’d need to keep him here to keep him and everyone else safe. I had my unicorn hair rope in my drawer still, didn’t I? I was pretty sure I did.  

                So, I walked over to the drawer, did indeed found the rope where I’d left it (which had to have been a first; usually I never find something exactly where I left it. I say the brownies move stuff when they clean), and quickly got Marcone bound tightly with it. He stared at me while I did this, not really struggling but putting his hands on me and making it hard to tie him because I had to dance around the wandering fingers. Still yet, I did eventually get it done. I nodded, very proud of myself for no particular reason, and had Thomas help me prop him up in the corner like the world’s most murderous decoration.  

                “Not to say I’m not into this, honey, but I’ve got to say I’d be a hell of a lot more comfortable on a bed,” he told me, and I didn’t grace that with a response. Jeez, why had Marcone, of all people, had to be outside? And, better yet, why had he come here anyway? It wasn’t like he had any shortage of options for… relieving his tensions. Hell, half the city would probably sleep with him if he asked nicely enough. Or, you know, looked in their general direction and smiled like he meant it. What? It’s not like I’ve ever called him ugly. Maybe not as pretty as Thomas, but handsome in a dignified kind of way. Well, I mean, usually. Right now he was handsome in a dangerous kind of way, dignity thrown out the window. I walked back to the couch and flopped down on it, heaving a heavy, thick sigh.

                “So,” Thomas said, and I rolled my eyes at him.

                “So what?”

                “So, why are you leaving that in your house? Shouldn’t you throw it out?” It took me a couple of seconds to figure out that “it” was Marcone.

                “I don’t exactly want to loose him on the general populace like… well, like that. Look at him! He’s dangerous.”

                “And you think he’s safer in the house with you, after he just promised to fuck you if he got half a chance?”

                “He can’t get out of the ropes, and he’ll be good by morning.” Thomas sighed as if he didn’t believe me, but then just kind of gave in. It wasn’t quiet for long before Marcone was talking again. Apparently he really, really liked talking. 

                “So pretty,” he murmured, “Christ, wanted you since that first day. You’ve had me damn near begging and you act like you don’t even _notice_ , like you can’t see what I want from you. No one’s that oblivious, honey, and I don’t like being fucking teased. Most people, I wouldn’t stand for it this damn long. Of course, you’re not most people, are you? You never have been, and maybe that’s what I like about you. You’re not scared of me. You don’t do what I want just because I want it. It’s… refreshing, I must say. I like you. I don’t like most people I want to fuck. So fucking special, but you’re such a goddamn tease.” What? I don’t… what? I understood all those words he was saying individually, yeah, but they didn’t make much sense put together and applied to me, of all people. I was pretty sure no one had ever called me a tease before. And what the hell did he mean I acted like I didn’t notice? Didn’t notice what? Hell’s Bells, I’m lost, and he’s the insane one right now. This has to be a new low for wizards everywhere. I’m sorry. He laughed suddenly, his eyes going a little wide.

                “Really? You really don’t get it? How sweet. Still a tease, but sweet. Shall I spell it out for you, sweetheart? The moment I got you in my car, the first time you mouthed off to me, I wanted to give you something better to do with that mouth. I’ve wanted to every damn time you’ve mouthed off to me since. I’ve wanted to teach you _manners,_ ” he said, almost hissing by then, voice low and thick. I squirmed. It wasn’t like he was the first person who’d ever suggested something like that in regards to me (although I did have to say that most of the others were decidedly non-human and saying it mostly just because I pissed them off, not because they actually wanted to) but it still made me… uncomfortable, I guess is the best word. Confused too. He’d never given any indication.

                “Shut the hell up, Marcone,” Thomas called over to him, and Marcone snorted.

                “You might have some control over what I do, Mr. Raith, but what I say and what I think are none of your concern.” Why would Thomas have control over what he did? That didn’t make sense either; basically none of this did, at this point.

                “You think I can’t fix that, Johnny? If I wanted, you’d never even think about sex again.”

                “You won’t; you’ve too much invested in not being a ‘monster’ to give yourself that particular pleasure. You can keep him in your bed, Raith, but you can’t keep the thought of him out of another’s.” Whoa, no. No, no, no.

                “Thomas and I aren’t… like that,” I said, and Thomas glared at me. What, he wanted to play up the act with Marcone? That was just dumb. Marcone grinned.

                “Really? _Wonderful_. It doesn’t have to be just talk, then, does it? I can take action, hm? And you can’t stop me. Oh, that is just perfect, isn’t it?” He chuckled quietly. “So, Harry love, shall I continue? I left off at manners, didn’t I? I’d teach you to speak to me with respect, call me Mr. Marcone or not speak, tell me what you want or be left with nothing until you beg for it, for me. So damn proud, I want to see you human, and touchable. I want to make you admit that you need things from others, that you need help, that you aren’t some kind of superman.” Slowly his voice fell into the husk again, and Thomas continued to glare at me. Murphy still looked like everything she knew had just been revealed to be a lie. I was kind of feeling that way too. I kind of saw why Thomas had wanted to play our relationship that way with him, now. Maybe I should listen to him more often. Anyway.

                “Shut up, Marcone,” I grumbled, and besides, it wasn’t like I’d ever do any of that stuff anyway. He talked like he wanted me to act like… I don’t know, one of the Executive Priority girls.

                “I’d rather not. The better question is, why do you want me to? If you truly didn’t care, or if none of this sounded in any way feasible, you wouldn’t care. You’d allow me to talk to my heart’s content. But this is making you uncomfortable. Hitting too close to home, am I? Let’s see if we can hit closer. I want to see you walk around in nothing but what I’ve bought you, my cologne soaked into the fabric and the smell of my shampoo in your hair, my soap on your skin, carrying my bite high on your throat where everyone can see. Anyone who touched you would know they were touching what was mine, and if they’ve any idea what’s good for them, they’ll stop, they’ll run. I want to keep you, but I know I never could, and so, failing that, I want to be always with you. I want to follow you into battle and then I want to take you home with me. I want you to never be alone, to always have a shoulder when you need it. I want to be the one who gets to kiss you.” Close to home didn’t cover the half of it. It was like he’d gotten the intimacy tour of my soul way back when, like he’d seen everything in there that I could ever possibly want from another person.

                “So,” I tried, clearing my throat and turning to face Thomas, “the weather’s been great lately, huh?” He stared at me. Murphy did too, but Murphy was broken anyway. Had I just finished breaking Thomas? Crap.

                “Harry,” he finally said. Good; still not broken. I wasn’t done with him yet. And I’d have to get Murphy fixed. “Marcone is over there saying all the things that would normally be a pathway directly to your wizardly little heart, and now you want to talk to me about the nice weather we’ve been having? Seriously? I think instead we should address the fact that this is coming as a shock to you somehow, which can’t be good, because when something surprises me, you start thinking about it, and you in no way need to think about any of this, ever.” I blinked at him.

                “Why would this not come as a surprise to me?” That, apparently, brought Murphy’s brain back online because she hit me really hard on the shoulder. I was pretty sure I’d have an itty-bitty fist-shaped bruise the next day.

                “Because he’s been flirting with you since you met him! And the bad part is, you flirt back! That’s probably why he thought you knew, you incredible moron. That and the fact that everybody knows Marcone swings both ways, and there’s been an influx of people from the same team hanging around his house, most of them suspiciously tall with big brown eyes.”

                “Everybody, Ms. Murphy? I wouldn’t say that; the society pages haven’t mentioned it, although I suppose that could be out of fear. And you’ve forgotten the hair, by the way; they all have that haircut, or lack thereof. I rather like his hair. Good length to pull; dangerous in a fight, perhaps, but good for my purposes.” Murphy nodded distractedly and I wondered, vaguely, if she’d been drinking. Thomas looked like he was wondering exactly the same thing. I cleared my throat.

                “Shut up, Marcone,” I tried again, like I thought it would work this time. His eyes flashed with amusement, and when he next spoke his voice was something close to a sing-song, at least probably as closet to that as it ever got.

                “No.”

                And that was when Thomas and Murphy just gave me this terribly frustrated look and stood up, apparently planning on leaving me there, and trailed towards my room. I gaped at them.

                “What? Where are you going? Don’t leave me alone in here with him!” Yeah, okay, my voice might’ve squeaked. But just a little, not a lot. Tiny, tiny bit. Shut up. Jeez. You act like you’ve never sounded like a pathetic teenager who’s scared but won’t admit it. Except for I don’t know why I sounded like that because I was totally not scared of anything.

                “You’re being stupid. These copious amounts of stupid are giving me a headache, and it’s getting dark. I’m going to bed. Raith, I guess, is coming to take a nap in the bathtub,” Murphy said, rolling her eyes vaguely in my direction, then opened my door and went inside.

                “As for me, he’s throwing off too much emotion all hyped up on that. It’s basically as bad as it was with that chain of people behind me, the bastard’s so willful. I’m weakened already from dealing with that all morning, and I really can’t stay in here with him like that unless you want me to accidentally eat him or something, and I really, really don’t want to do that. I don’t like Italian food. Anyway, just, you know, yell really loudly if he manages to get the ropes off.” And then he was gone too. Great. I was lone with Mr. Chatterbox and oh Hell’s Bells he was standing up, what do I do, what do I do?

                He walked towards me slowly, carefully, doing his damndest the whole way to look like he wasn’t tied and unsteady, and doing a weirdly good job of pulling off the illusion. When he reached me, he sat just as carefully as he’d walked beside me, eyes burning with unnatural green flame.

                “What are you doing?” I asked, understandably wary, and he just gave this annoyingly urbane smile and shrugged vaguely.

                “What can I do, Mr. Dresden? You’ve got me tied very thoroughly, and though I’ve admittedly made the attempt, my knife won’t cut this.” Of course he had a knife with him. Why hadn’t I checked? Because I’m stupid, that’s why. Anyhow.

                “Well, obviously you can still talk,” I grumbled, and he laughed.

                “And I intend to do so,” he replied, and had he not been talking about the particular subject he’d been fixated on since his arrival on my doorstep, I wouldn’t have even thought he was affected. He sounded too normal, too like he always did, except now he’d decided that sleeping with me sounded super neat.

                “I really wish you wouldn’t.”

                “I’ll stop when you admit you’ve considered it,” he began, as if giving me an opportunity to concede as much, but no way in hell was I doing that, even if I had thought about it, a little.

                And who wouldn’t consider it, honestly? He was a scumbag, yeah, but he was a scumbag with a great smile and charm to spare. And nice eyes. And he was sure as hell funny, when you were watching him verbally eviscerate somebody, or when he was in a good, playful mood. And he was a good man, in his own way, or at least he had a moral code that you could be sure he’d stick to through hell or high water. What was I talking about again? I forget. Whatever.

                “You really are so beautiful,” he murmured, “inside and out. Smart, courageous, insane. Fascinating, too, so fascinating. The first day we met, you stared me down as if I were nothing, the most mundane man you’ve ever met. No one has ever looked at me like that before, Harry, and no one has since. I wanted you then, but no matter what I offered, you wouldn’t take it. I suppose part of the charm was that I never expected you to; you wouldn’t be yourself if you had. Still yet, I saw something worth keeping in your soul, Harry Dresden, and I won’t give in until you’re mine.”

                “Never going to happen,” I murmured, thoughtless, knee jerk.

                “Oh? Are you sure about that, darling? I’m afraid I’m not convinced. I think you want this, want me. I think you want to be mind, and I think you want everyone to know. I think, once I trip you into my bed the first time, you’ll be much more willing to consider listening to my ideas, to consider bending over my desk for me, giving me the smile you give to those you love,” he said, and I could hear in his voice that he was working himself into another frenzy.

                “Stones, Marcone,” I mumbled, squirming again and hoping he’d calm down again.

                “Christ, Dresden, you’ve got no idea how much I want that, you on my desk for me, or even under it, I suppose. You’d be so gorgeous, flushed pink for me, knowing that someone, anyone could walk in, maybe even the fucking mayor. Maybe I’d even set a meeting, make damn sure someone saw because I’d want everyone to know that I was the one who made Harry Dresden fall for me. Damn it, Harry, do you even understand what you do to me? I haven’t acted like this since I was working under Vargassi, and fucking look at me. Harry, I love you, damn it, I love you,” he said, something frantic in his eyes, his body shifting where he sat, and I couldn’t help it; I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. His eyes clenched shut and he bared his teeth at me for a moment before he relaxed and leaned closer to me.

                “Marcone?” I asked, and he chuckled, the sound low and harsh in his throat, like he was losing his voice. Silence reigned for a couple of seconds after that, and he was _shaking._ John Marcone did not shake.

                “Please, Harry. I won’t touch you. Just let me talk, please. Everything, all the things I’ve dreamt about. Let me talk, alright? I will not mention this again, please,” he said, and I was frozen. This couldn’t be Marcone, John, not the man I knew. The visual was making my heart tighten and twist in my chest, I don’t know why, I just… I felt bad. Really, really bad. And was it really such a big deal to sit here and listen to him run his mouth off? It was just a side-effect of the potion anyway.

                “You’re going to be so embarrassed by this in the morning.” He nodded, his eyes still lidded, and leaned back to the other side of the couch.

                “Probably, yes, although not for the reasons you’re thinking. Shall I begin, Harry?” Like it was a fucking meeting or something.

                “Whenever you want,” I said, settling into my corner of the couch, even pulling the blanket from the back of it and draping it over me, since the late evening chill was rapidly settling into my subterranean den. A funny smile tilted his lips just slightly and he shook his head as he rested against the couch’s arm.

                “The first dream I ever had about you, I had the night we met. It was nothing like what I’ve been telling you today, nothing close; more, it was a memory, I think, of what I’d seen in your soul. Red, there was red everywhere, soft and warm, felt like velvet. You were tangled in it, and you looked so sad, and I don’t think you could move. I don’t know why I went towards you; I didn’t love you then. I did, though, I went towards you and undid the knots binding you. It fell away, faded into white patched with gray. You were so happy then, smiling so brightly, and you held my hand. You kissed me then, a soft, innocent, schoolyard kiss, as if you’d never done it before. I jolted awake there, surprised, perhaps a bit afraid. I thought you’d done something to me then, put those thoughts in my head, but you hadn’t. You never even knew.” He sighed, there, and I blinked.

                “ _That’s_ what you saw in my soul? Me tangled in something red? That’s it?” He tilted his head and smiled.

                “Yes? Have I disappointed you? Has everyone else seen something more climactic? A fireball perhaps?” I snorted.

                “Nah. Just… it’s usually not so flattering.” Curiosity painted his face, weirdly stark when compared to his usual mastery of being entirely expressionless. “Susan fainted, when she looked. Thomas gave me this really weird stare, but he was polite enough not to mention anything, at least. My… DuMorne, well. He was pleased, but that wasn’t exactly a good thing.” He didn’t question that, hardly even reacted, really.

                “Perhaps I just have better taste, sweet. Can I assume from that that I’m only one of four you’ve Soul Gazed?” I rolled my eyes because of course that’s all he got from that.

                “Five,” I answered, because Elaine had been… she’d been the only one who hadn’t reacted, next to Marcone, the only one who hadn’t really seemed either bothered or too pleased by whatever she saw. That had meant a lot, back then. Maybe it still did, I didn’t know. It’d been too long since I’d last seen her. Marcone took in my probably vacant expression and raised his head haughtily, or as haughtily as he could with his hands tied behind his back, ropes pinning his arms to his sides.

                “An honor nonetheless,” he said, then cleared his throat just so. “The dreams after that weren’t so innocent, perhaps because I’d grown to know you far better upon the arrival of the second. I’d begun to realize that perhaps my first dream was more an omen than anything, a hint as to how I’d one day feel. It happened perhaps a week after the werewolf incident, and before I’d gone to bed, I was reminiscing on how close I’d gotten barely more than a week before, how close to getting you to sign my contract, when you were being kept by the Street Wolves. It made me sick, that I’d fallen for your little trick, that I’d actually believed you even though I should’ve known better, should’ve taken more precautions to be certain you’d really sign. So, in the dream, you came to me for help, you see, into my home, your head bowed. Your cheek was cut; you’d been fighting, maybe hurt, but not badly. You said you needed me and my people. I asked you what I’d get for my hand and you told me anything.” I snorted.

                “Not much basis in reality huh, Johnny? I don’t offer anybody ‘anything’.” He got that funny smile again, and it was really starting to piss me off.

                “That’s why they call them dreams, Harry, now let me finish. You promised me that. I agreed to help you on the basis that you wouldn’t ask what I wanted in return until all was said and done. I hadn’t wanted you to get hurt more, you see, because you’d refused my offer on principle, so I thought that would be better. I suppose I dreamed you terrified because you agreed like lightning. I don’t recall much of the actual fight, except that the beast was made of shadows. You went home with me after that, and I pressed you to your knees. You were confused, but not for long. You caught on quickly, too quickly, but it was only a dream and I didn’t care. I dreamt of everything that night, everything I could do with you, because I hadn’t had time to decide the basics of what I wanted then, only that I wanted.” I rolled my eyes.

                “You’re a much bigger idiot than people give you credit for.” He nodded and the fact that he agreed really did shock me.

                “I know. I stopped keeping track of the dreams after that because it seems I began to simply reprise favorites and have them over and over, too often. You fresh off a fight and me pissed with you for going off on your own and getting yourself hurt. You’d be weak, no magic left to speak of, but you’d still have that sharp tongue of yours. Maybe you’d have caught me on a bad night when I wasn’t fit to come back at you with more of the same, I’d get angrier, grab you hard and prove why you should take physical strength more seriously than you do, bend you over that stupid little car and hold you there until you squirmed. You’d ask me what the hell I thought I was doing and then I’d move just so and you’d feel the reason and freeze. You barely notice when a woman is attracted to you, so of course you’d have never noticed a man. But then you’d relax and give me that fucking smile, the warm one that softens you so much, makes you look touchable. You’d jerk back against me, and from there everything would go so quickly, so fast, so hard. I’d be more violent than I like, bite you hard and make you scream until you learned to ask for help.”

                I didn’t know what to think of that. People didn’t just… dream about me, think about me like that. That was something that happened to other people, to the heroines in Bob’s novels. That wasn’t real life, especially not mine. I cleared my throat.

                “Once again, you’re not too big on reality, huh?” He tried a smile but I could see his imaginings weren’t leaving him unaffected. Periodically his hips would jerk into the empty air, seeking friction that wasn’t there. I could lie and say that I was entirely unaffected, but I don’t feel like it right now.

                “Another old standby is you in my car, on my lap, having to keep your head down against my shoulder to keep from hitting it on the roof whenever the road gets rougher. I don’t move at all, beyond settling my hands on your hips, instead letting you move how you like, putting me where you want me, working towards your own pleasure. I imagine the feel of your breath against my neck, the way you’d tremble at the end, how you’d need help to work through it, how your eyes would clench closed with the intensity of it. You’d let me hold you after that, let me clutch you until you fell still, until your breathing was steady again.” I didn’t have anything to say to that, honestly. Was there even anything to say? I didn’t know, at that point. I was affected, though, maybe too much. I needed him to stop talking because thinking about this was the last thing I needed to do.

                “Look, Marcone, I know I promised, but-,” he laughed and leaned closer to me, licking his lips softly.

                “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? About making it real. I imagine you on all fours for me, Harry, hips canting back, mouth open, flushed as all. I imagine fucking you until you come all over yourself, until you’re too sensitive to think. I imagine you touching me, gentle, confused, maybe a little loss. I imagine keeping you for myself, making it so you’d never be any good for anyone else again. I’d be the best and the last you’ve had, Harry, I’d do anything for you, anything to see you happy. It makes me insane just thinking about it,” he said, closer again, right there, and I could’ve let him, I could’ve, but… no. This was the potion talking, not him. He didn’t know what he was saying, and he’d hate himself in the morning. I stood up and walked away.

                “Go to sleep, John,” I said, and he cocked his head.

                “You want me, Harry.” I gritted my teeth hard.

                “No, I don’t. I’ll see you in the morning, now sleep.” Realization dawned suddenly and sharply on his face, and his smile went gentle and soft, reassuring.

                “Harry, this is me. I want this, I want you, I want you now. That isn’t going to change.” I raked my hand hard through my hair and took more steps away from him.

                “Yeah, it will. I’m not stupid, John, and I know… look, just, please. Good night.” I’d never dealt with this before and I didn’t really know how to but I did at least know that I wasn’t going to take advantage of him when he was like this, in one of his rarely vulnerable states.

                “And if it doesn’t? What if, in the morning, I tell you that this was all the truth, that I do love you, that I do want you? What then?” I let myself smirk, vague, the best I could do at the time.

                “I’ll give you a big ol’ kiss,” I said, puckering my lips like a moron, and he chuckled before he stood and moved back to his corner.

                “I’ll look forward to it; do have the couch, by the way; I’m perfectly alright over here.” So I did. I went to sleep, and he, presumably, did the same.


	2. Chapter 2

                Unsurprisingly, I awoke the next morning to yelling. A lot of yelling. I hadn’t even thought that Marcone could get that pissed off, but hey, you learn something new every day, I guess. Also, I’m not actually suicidal, in case you were wondering; I know Marcone’s dangerous, but to tell the truth, I’m more scared of his cold anger than his hot variety.

                “Dresden! What the hell is this?” he growled as I slowly dragged myself into consciousness, my body stiff and my feet asleep where they’d been hanging off the arm of the couch all night. I swung myself around and stood carefully, stumbling a little as feeling went back into the lower part of my body, and wandered over to Marcone with a yawn.

                “Is the sun up yet?” I asked, and he glared harshly at me.

                “I believe so. Your little friends left about ten minutes ago, refused to undo these damn ropes or tell me why they were on me in the first place. What the hell does the sun have to do with this?”

                “I had a little potion’s accident yesterday morning, and it kind of… well, you weren’t yourself. I had to tie you up for safety reasons, once you appeared on my doorstep. Anyway, turn around. Thomas tied these, so it might take me a minute to get them undone. He’s good with ropes.” Marcone snorted, the sound weirdly undignified coming from him.

                “You would know, I’m sure.” I laughed.

                “Really? We explained this yesterday, you know. Me and Thomas aren’t together, we never were. Just friends who got involved in a lot of misunderstandings. Well, not really. More Thomas is a dick and I don’t exactly look like I belong in his new apartment.” Marcone froze.

                “Explain.” I huffed; did he really think I would do what he wanted just because he used that stupid, commanding tone of voice on me?

                “He kissed the top of my head once when Butters was around, both to piss me off and to fuck with the poor little guy, because he likes doing things like that. That’s why Butters still thinks I’m gay. As for why the bigger rumors started to get spread around, well, I broke into his apartment once, about a year ago, and when the cops came, I sort of acted like his scorned, jealous boyfriend. It really isn’t my fault that he didn’t tell the doorman I was allowed to be there, though, and it definitely isn’t my fault that the Chicago PD gossips like high school kids.” Okay, so, maybe that tone of voice did affect me, a little. But only a little. And only sometimes. I refused to look at him as I finally managed to get the knot undone. Thomas really was too good at that, by the way. He relaxed minutely, his fingers working and his shoulders rolling as he stood.

                “Ah. Well, might I ask what I did so terrible that it warranted being tied up in the corner of your living room? Your friends seemed quite unaffected by anything.” I shrugged.

                “That’s because they never were, and you aren’t now. Like I said, I had a potion’s accident, but it only affected people who were out of doors when it happened. They came to my place, unaffected, to ask what was going on, and stayed here because it was safer. You came here, affected, and we tied you up because I didn’t think it’d be safe for you to lurk through Chicago with how you were acting.” He turned to me and smirked, a little.

                “And how was I acting, Harry?” he asked, and I felt my cheeks flame into a blush as soon as the words left his mouth. Of course he wanted to know, the bastard.

                “Don’t call me Harry,” I said, going for time, “and… uh, well, the potion was… um, you know, well, kind of an aphrodisiac. Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t want to make it! I had to! Just… I didn’t mean to spill it, okay? I would’ve just put it under the desk with all the others I have to make, but there was a bottle on the floor, and-,” he cut me off with a hand over my mouth, and I’d have gaped if I could’ve. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway, pulling that shit? I wasn’t a kid, he had no right to shut me up like that! I had to glare up at him, since he was standing while I was still crouching. It was a weird power imbalance, to tell the truth, and I didn’t like it. I was always taller than him, and I’d never realized what kind of advantage I felt because of that until I didn’t have it anymore.

                “I believe, Harry, that what you are attempting to say is that I came here looking for sex, correct? And you and your friends, feeling in danger, tied me up in order to await the end of the potion’s effects and make certain that I did not hurt anyone?” I nodded and his hand moved with the motion. I wondered, for a second, if the tried and true eight-year-old boy method of licking his hand would make him move it. He smiled at whatever he saw on my face, moved his hand without me having to lick it, and then had the gall to _pat me on my head_. I stood up too, crossed my arms, and glared harder at him, honestly wanting to embarrass him for that. So, I decided to go into a little more detail.

                “Well, it was more me who felt in danger than those two. You jumped me as soon as I opened the door. I’ve been meaning to ask, how’d you just jump right through my wards, anyway?” Apparently the new information I’d given him had him shocked, because he flipped his jacket back and handed me a little charm without a word or a complaint. I touched it gently, the feel of it smooth and weirdly heavy, the runes carved in it ones I didn’t really recognize. That was probably because I’d never really found a use for rune-based magic, though; it took too long, and generally required artistic talent I didn’t actually have. I could still feel a lot of magic bound in the small object, though, tight and still at the moment, but it would surely blaze loose and wild when it was in use.

                “Huh. Gard made this? Almost makes me wish I could do runes. You’ve got a good asset, with her. Really makes me wonder why you still want me on your payroll. Anyway, don’t think this thing is going to get you through if you try to run into my apartment again. I’m fixing the wards,” I said, handing the charm back to him. He took it back with the same thoughtlessness with which he’d given it to me.

                “My apologies,” he said, softly, “if I made you uncomfortable. I assure you that I wasn’t in my right mind. I don’t even remember.” I nodded.

                “That’s what I told you, Johnny. I said you’d be embarrassed, and that you’d regret saying all you did. I mean, if I were you, I’d have used the opportunity to make use of my executive privileges, but hey, whatever floats your boat I guess. I figure you were, for some reason, near my house when it happened, so you just went to the closest place that was familiar to you. I have to say, though, you’re great at adlibbing. Almost could’ve made a guy think you were being serious.”

                “Adlibbing? Harry, was I talking?” Wow, he could be an idiot too? Seriously? Huh.

                “No, Johnny, you just sat there with your mouth shut all night. Of course you were talking, dumbass. You hungry? I figure you probably are, or at least thirsty. I know I’ve got coke, and water, and I might even have coffee, but I haven’t checked in a while since I don’t drink it often.” He shook his head, but I knew he was lying because his voice had been a little hoarse since the first time I’d heard him yell that day.

                “What did I say, and who did I say it to?” he asked, and I grinned, wandering into the kitchen and filling a cup with water. I brought it back seconds later and had him drink deeply from it. He allowed all of this with only vague annoyance as I settled the quickly emptied (ha, I knew it) glass on my coffee table. Still, I didn’t feel like giving him a straight answer. I mean, he never did me the same courtesy, so why should I make this easy on him?

                “What do you think you said, Johnny boy? Ooh, better yet, who do you think you said it to? Murphy, maybe? Sorry, but I don’t think she’s interested. I mean she came here with a strapping young mercenary attached to her side, so I don’t think she needs a mobster. Still, it would probably be funny to watch you try. I’ve always wanted to see what you looked like with a black eye. Of course, if it’s Thomas you have a secret thing for, you’ll probably get worse. He really, really hates you, for some reason, even more than Murphy does. Apparently something about you just strikes a nerve with him; he’d tell me about it all the time when he lived here.” It was almost weird, how nervous he looked, but then it was suddenly gone, he was suddenly himself again, cool and calm and blank. He cleared his throat and straightened his back, looking at me with a wall built in his bright green eyes. Funny, they hadn’t quite faded back to the normal old money, yet. Maybe it was some kind of residual on the potion; I’d have to check into that.

                “Well, Mr. Dresden, perhaps you should look a bit more closely at where I went whilst in that state, and exactly who happens to live at that particular location. I wonder, why would I have, in a relatively insane state, thought that either Ms. Murphy or Mr. Raith would be in your dwelling? That is foolish, Harry. I am afraid that I can think of but one man and one place where I might go in that state, and I believe I awoke all tied up in his living room. Now, I will apologize again for saying things that undoubtedly made you very uncomfortable, but I will not act as though I am surprised that those things were said.” Oh. Oh. What? Oh. Um. Okay. Okay. I don’t. Yeah. Okay. So. I needed to deal with that. Yeah.

                “You uh… Marcone, you told me you loved me. Among other things. But you said you loved me, like, a lot. More than once, I mean. Which, you also mentioned a whole lot of ways in which you wanted to fuck me. But. Yeah.” He smiled, small and distant, almost a tease. His hand felt soft on my elbow where it suddenly touched, and I swallowed stiffly as I shifted on my feet.

                “Is that so? What would you like me to say, Harry, that I was lying? That I hate you with every fiber of my being? That I am disgusted with myself for stooping so low as to tell you, of all people, that I loved you? I have more respect for you than to lie to you, Harry.” Um. Damn it. Hell’s Bells, Hell’s Bells, Hell’s Bells, I don’t know how to deal with stuff like this, okay? You want me to blow something up, sure, I can do that. I can do people telling me that I’m their friend, that they care about me, and sometimes, yeah, even that they love me, but like that? No. To be totally honest, I’m in over my head when it comes to that sort of thing.

                “Oh. And the, uh, other stuff?” He chuckled, walking forward slowly and kind of crowding into my space. I moved back with him but I knew well enough that eventually there wouldn’t be any more room to move back.

                “The other stuff? You’ll have to be more specific, Harry. I don’t remember anything from shortly after leaving my home yesterday, if you’ll recall.” Asshole. Of course he was going to make me say it, stupid bastard. Jeez.

                “The sex stuff. You got, um, really explicit. I’m pretty sure you almost made Thomas throw up.” He smiled, reached out and gently stroked his knuckles down my cheek, stopping just at my lips with a sigh.

                “I’m sure I meant it, Harry. I don’t often say things I don’t mean, most certainly not when I’m incapable of doing so as I believe I must have been yesterday. I had never wanted you to know, you see. Not when I thought you were with Mr. Raith and happy. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy, you understand, and if being with me wouldn’t make you that way, I didn’t want to force the matter. We’ve never had the most stable of relationships, and I recognize that. I didn’t want the thing that finally blew the house of cards down to be my feelings for you. You’re quite… odd, about things of that nature.”

                “I’ve never been with Thomas. Never wanted to, actually,” I mumbled, and he nodded.

                “Why is that, by the way? The way he touches you… he’s certainly interested, at one point even if he isn’t now.” I laughed, soft, faraway, not really into it.

                “Thomas? No way. He’s Thomas, you know? He’s… he’s great, he is, but not… well, he’s a slob. He’s a coward, or at least he loves pretending like he is. He looks like he took a wrong turn off a GQ photo shoot and never has an issue with showing that off. He can’t cook to save his life. He plays the pretty boy like it’s going out of style. He can’t hold down a job without getting molested by somebody, unless, obviously, he owns the business, as he’s recently proven. He never took Mouse for a walk when he was supposed to and he always forgot to buy groceries, or pay the rent. He made joggers appear in my neighborhood out of the ether and proceeded to sleep with all of them on my floor, on my couch, or in my bed. He’s _Thomas._ I love him, sure, but I couldn’t stand loving him like _that._ I’d kill him in a week.” Marcone couldn’t seem to hold back laughter at that.

                “Really? And what about Ms. Murphy? Anything particular been holding you back from that? You certainly can’t claim disinterest in that regard.” I shook my head.

                “Nah, Murphy’s pretty. Murphy’s always been pretty. A lot of people are pretty, though; it doesn’t mean I want to hop into bed with them. Murphy… it’s weird, with us. For a long time, she didn’t really trust me, she dealt with me. I scared her. I still do, sometimes, even if she won’t admit it. I’m dangerous. I hurt people, or at least I have before. I’ve killed people. I’ve done all of that with magic. Murphy is strong. She knows she can kick my ass, physically. She proves it every week. But if I pulled out my magic? I could kill her, and I could do it fast. It doesn’t matter how strong she is. It’s only been in the past few years that I’ve finally been able to prove that I won’t. And, also, she’s sort of with Kincaid, but not really, which sort of personifies the main reason I’m not interested in being with her; she wants casual, and I can’t do casual. I’ve never been able to. If I’m with somebody, I’m _with_ them. I’m not a one night stand kind of guy. If we did that, I’d always want more, and she wouldn’t be able to give it to me. We’ve got a great friendship, the best I’ve ever had, and neither of us are willing to ruin that for some silly fling.” Marcone nodded like he really understood.

                “It’s funny, hearing you say it like that. I suppose because I’ve never really considered you thinking about it. I suppose I’ve finally made it clear that I care for you, correct, Harry?” He pressed closer again, and I finally felt my back hit a wall. I nodded, slow, confused.

                “Yeah. What are you doing?” He eyes widened for a split second, and I thought for a minute that he was going to kiss me then, to hell with it all, but then, no, I saw him tuck that away, all of it. I saw it clear from his eyes, his face, his body, like it’d never been that at all, and he stepped back and away from me.

                “Nothing at all,” he said, quiet, and then the humanity in his voice was tucked away too. I could see what he was offering me, with that, just like I saw what he was offering me all those years ago with his contract.

                He was perfectly willing to let me pretend this never happened, to never, ever mention it again, to act as if everything between us was the same. He was going to let himself go back to being “that scumbag”, to let me go back to being “Mr. Dresden” instead of “Harry” or “darling” or “sweetheart”. If I wanted, he was going to leave just then, and yesterday would be stricken from both of our memories, at least when we were around each other, at least for all appearance’s sake. It could’ve ended, then and there.

                I thought about that, I’ll admit it, about letting it stop, be over and done with, never looked at ever, ever again, but strangely enough, I found that, well, I didn’t entirely want to. Marcone doesn’t look human often. In fact, I’d have thought that he was some kind of crazy new robot if not for the fact that my magic didn’t short circuit him. Marcone had never been a good man, I was sure of that, at least not in the strict sense of the term, but then again I hadn’t ever been that either. He was predictable, though. He didn’t do curveballs; I knew his morals, and because of that, I could generally get a good gauge on what he would and wouldn’t do, on what he had had a hand in and what he hadn’t. I knew that as long as I didn’t cross him, I wouldn’t find a knife in my back with his name carved in the hilt. I couldn’t say that for most things I knew, not even all the ones I trusted, really.

                And here he was doing this, now, offering me a kindness like that, a courtesy. It was strange, and honestly, it freaked me out a little that he was giving up so easily. Where had all that talk about not stopping until I was “his” gone? This wasn’t very Marconeian of him. I tensed my lips, then, thought about crossing my arms, but decided instead to clench one fist around his tie and yank him back to where he’d been before. That probably wouldn’t have worked, honestly, if he’d been expecting it, but he wasn’t, so instead he stumbled to his former place.

                “And here I thought you liked me, Johnny. Why give up so easily? You might make me feel unwanted,” I said, and then. Well. I’ve done a lot of stupid stuff in my time, I’ll admit it, and to tell the truth, what I did next probably doesn’t even rank in the top ten. I kissed Gentlemen Johnny Marcone square on the lips, my hand still gripping his tie, my eyes clenched shut like I was preparing for a punch in the jaw, but that never happened. Instead, slowly, Marcone relaxed. He stepped closer. His hands moved from their stiff, at-attention position by his sides and instead wound around my waist. He started kissing back, his lips moving too-expertly against mine, so expertly, in fact, that I just sort of let him take over. He obviously knew more about what he was doing than I did anyway, you know? It felt almost like we were doing that particular dance for hours, but then, suddenly, it was over. My hand slackened and I let go of his tie, finally. It looked all crinkly and I just barely resisted the inane urge to straighten it.

                “Not that I’m complaining, Harry, but can I ask where that came from?” he murmured against my mouth, and yeah, that was the question, alright. I shrugged helplessly and he sighed, long-suffering, forlorn, but also weirdly pleased and indulgent. I felt way too much like a particularly adorable and equally hopeless puppy dog. Fucking asshole. “Alright. Perhaps a better question would be, are you willing to do it again?” I shrugged again, but this time it was just because I felt like being a dick. He obviously knew that because he crossed his arms hard and gave me this _look,_ all hard green eyes and tight expressions.

                “Well, what do you want me to say? Oh, be still mine maidenly heart! Your kiss hath set it all a flutter, and caused a tingling beneath mine bodice and mine petticoats. Take responsibility for this fair maid, oh mighty knight, and escort me to thine bed! Jeez, is that better? I mean, we’re not in some kind of soap opera. I do stupid stuff, and I don’t think about it. I will readily admit that, alright? More than readily, in fact. Everyone already knows, you know? I kissed you. Obviously, somewhere in my brain, I have a reason for doing that. But that most certainly does not mean that I want to go to Vegas and have a shotgun wedding with you.” He took a moment to stare at me as if I were a total and complete incompetent. Which, uh, well, he might’ve had some validation for that. But not much.

                “That might be a bit over the top, yes, but I was hoping for some sort of confirmation of your feelings.” His voice sounded as tight as his face looked, pulled like a wire ready to snap, twanging with the tension of it. I had no idea what feelings he meant, though. I didn’t love him. Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t! I don’t have to love people I kiss, do I? Of course not, that’s dumb; most people don’t. And all I’d done was kiss him. He was attractive, I was enough of a man to admit that. I’d gotten… caught up in the moment. It was nothing but a silly… thing I’d done. Yup. I mean, I did like him, at least, in my way. I wasn’t stupid enough to say that I really, seriously hated him, because I didn’t. I hated the character he played, the person he sometimes had to be, I hated his profession, but by no means did I hate the man himself; after all, it’s kind of hard to say you hate someone who has saved your life more than once. But I didn’t love him.

                “What feelings? You’re a scumbag. You piss me off like no one else can, all while somehow staying too likable for your own good. I don’t want to like you, don’t get me wrong; I tried really hard to hate you ever since we met. I would’ve continued to do so if you’d done the sensible thing and stayed away from me after we first met, but I don’t think anyone has ever called you sensible, considering your solution to stopping unnecessary violence in the city was to take over the whole damn city, so instead I had to keep meeting you. You always showed up whenever you weren’t wanted, guns blazing and an army behind you, and you insinuated yourself into my life probably meaning to do exactly that, because hey, what better way to get someone to work with you or for you than to just already be there all the damn time anyway, but that doesn’t make you less of a scumbag. I like you, yeah. I don’t want to, but I do. Thing is, though, I don’t love you.” He watched me carefully, then, and stepped into my space one more time.

                “Is that so? And yet you’re interested. You’d take a relationship if I offered it, right now. You’d let me sleep with you, obviously, which I know you only do for those you care for. That sounds like something more than ‘like’ to me, Harry.” I grinned.

                “Oh, okay, I get what you’re asking for! Yes, Johnny, I like-like you, like, you know, the like-like kind of like. Is that enough likes? Have I filled my pre-teen girl quota for today?” He sighed out a soft laugh and shook his head.

                “Must you always be so frustrating? I promise you don’t have to hide behind that bluster with me. Say what you mean; I don’t believe I’m planning on making fun of you for it.” I scratched my head and grinned.

                “Who’s hiding? I’ve never been an expert at relationship talks; mostly I spend all of them agreeing and trying super hard to catch up. What were we talking about again, by the way? Me liking you? Well, yeah, I do. There. But I don’t love you, okay? I can’t. That’s… I think you’d be asking too much of me, right there. But I care about you, despite myself. You and me, we can’t jump into something big. I know neither of us are good at casual, but something close to it, we could try that. Something easy, just trying this… thing.” His fingers, warm, dry, calloused, traced down the line of my jaw once, gentle and barely there, and then finally trailed down my throat, stopping at the neck of my t-shirt. “But I’ll tell you now, I have commitment issues. Those will probably at least double with you.” He nodded, a barely there smile kindly curving his lips. He looked a lot more approachable, like that, less the harsh businessman and more a guy you could go to with your problems, when you wanted a good drink.

                “Fair enough. I suppose that particular reveal warrants one of my own, does it not? If something comes of this, no matter how casual it is, you won’t be sharing your bed with anyone but me, and I’ll do the same. I don’t… I’ve never been good at sharing, you understand. I’m selfish. Monogamy would be the only request I had of you, and perhaps a slightly increased willingness to tell me when something was happening, when you were in danger.” The fingers traced under the shirt collar, and I shifted, vaguely uncomfortable. Look, it’d been a while, okay?

                “I don’t… how are you expecting me to listen again?” I asked, slowly letting my head tilt back against the wall, and for a moment I felt the air around me heat up as he pressed against me, the evidence of his own lack of attention an insistent pressure my thigh, but then he was gone with an annoyed growl from low in his throat.

                “Harry, please. An open invitation is far from the best thing for you to be offering me right now. I’m in no state to control myself.” I shrugged.

                “I told you I was willing to try it with you, didn’t I?”

                “You don’t love me,” he said, something bothered, conflicted, in his voice.

                “What, you love everyone you sleep with?” He shook his head, distant amusement shining on his face.

                “No, but you do, or at least you feel for them deeply and truly. I will not be the one to change that for you. Besides, Harry, I do love you; if you let me have all of you, even if only once, I can’t be certain that I’ll let you go. I’ve waited a decade; I can wait a little longer.” I straightened my head and looked him in the eye, laughter probably evident. Who would have thought, after last night, that he’d be the one trying to leave now?

                “Doing _something_ doesn’t mean doing _everything._ I’m not offering to bend over for you right here right now. I’ve never done that before; my sex life up to this point has been exceedingly vanilla, probably partly because I couldn’t have that at any other point in my life. I like the simple things. Mostly I just like being that close to another human being when they’re not trying to stab me.” He swallowed and then took me by the hand, hard and tight.

                “Damn it, Harry,” he hissed, “Must you always test my patience?”

                “Probably. Seems to be working for us so far, don’t you think? I mean, neither of us have killed the other yet.”

                “I’m rather certain at this point that you’re trying your hardest. You’re close enough to giving me a heart attack as it is.”

                “What, Johnny, too old to handle me?” He let his eyes go lidded, that stupid come-hither smirk on his lips again, and I rolled my eyes.

                “Certainly not. But you are, admittedly, quite terrible for my blood pressure. Now, however, I’m going to leave, yes? You can deal with this,” he paused, massaged the front of my jeans once with quick, clever hands, and pulled away even as I jerked into the touch, “on your own, and you may rest assured that I’ll do the same. We’ll discuss anything further at a later date, when the both of us are more clear headed.” I rolled my eyes.

                “Have fun then, John. I’m going to go run a shower.” He went narrow-eyed again, at that.

                “You don’t have hot water. I believe you’d find your bed, or your couch, more comfortable.” I snorted.

                “I’m not going to do anything, thus the reason for the shower.” He sighed.

                “I knew you could be petty, Harry, but isn’t this taking it a bit too far?” I rolled my eyes again and carefully slid by him, shedding my shirt on the way.

                “It’s not because of you, John, I just don’t do that.” That really surprised him, and apparently when he gets surprised, I end up against walls. I don’t even know how he got me spun around and back against it that quickly. I did learn that my wall, while in the state I was in at that time, feels pretty damn scratchy against skin, and also that John has a much higher ambient temperature than me, though.

                “Harry, you’re not making leaving much easier for me. Why the hell not?”

                “I don’t like it. It’s a Wizard thing, I think; sex is a very… it connects two people, deeply. A lot of energy gets traded around, especially when emotions are involved. If I’m by myself, though, all that energy just gets released. The release itself is good, obviously, but generally it just leaves me cold. It’s not as fulfilling, for me, because when I sleep with someone, I feel a little more than the average person would. Nothing against it, obviously, but not my thing. Besides, it’s dangerous; a sexed up Wizard is an inattentive Wizard, and an inattentive Wizard is a dead Wizard. Plus all the various results could end up anywhere, and if a baddie gets ahold of them, I’m also a dead Wizard. So, no solo exploration for me.” I got a little breathy halfway through that little explanation because I could see Johnny falling apart, slowly, giving up. Currently, he was pressing rhythmically against my leg, sometimes hard enough that I could feel him shake.

                “And I’m sure you had someone instill this in you as a teenager, hm?” He was nosing at my neck, too, his breath hot against it, and I sighed, tilted it sideways, because scumbag or not, he knew what he was doing.

                “Yeah. Master, DuMorne, whatever. And later Eb, too, if not as… emphatically.”

                “Unhealthy,” he murmured, “We’ll have to fix that. Couch, go sit. I’ll follow.” So, apparently a sexed up Marcone is a caveman. Good to know. Especially considering a sexed up me is, for some reason, willing to listen to him, because I did what he said. “And lose the pants.” I had no idea what he was planning, what he was doing, but I did as he asked and the result was a whole lot of scrawny, pale me draped over my couch in my favorite Spiderman boxers. “Those too,” he finally said, shedding his own jacket in the floor behind him. I rolled my eyes and did that, too, hissing at the cool air of my little subterranean den.

                “What’re you doing, John?” I finally asked because he was just _looking_ at me, like I was anything to look at anyway. I scratched my head maybe a little (but not a lot, because that just would’ve been stupid) self-consciously.

                “Spread your legs,” he said, “Show me. Touch yourself.” I blinked. His tie fluttered off somewhere behind him.

                “And you want to, what, watch?” His next sigh came out almost like a growl, it was so low.

                “No, Harry, I’d planned on turning around and staring at the fucking door, give you some goddamned privacy. Of course I was going to watch. Thus why I said _show me_.” I kept my legs as closed as I could without it hurting and crossed my arms over my chest. That was… well, weird, for a start. Who wanted to just watch, and not get anything in return for it? And he’d called himself selfish.

                “Erm. Why? Why don’t I just, you know, touch you? No one’s ever called me selfish in bed. You won’t get anything out of me touching me.” Apparently something I said then made him come to some kind of realization, because as he was undoing his shirt and throwing it somewhere to land with his jacket and his previously discarded tie, he let a small smile pass across his face.

                “I assure you, Harry, I’ll get plenty out of it. I like watching; relax, I’m not expecting you to put on a show for me. Pretend I’m not here, alright? Spread them as much as you’re comfortable, go as soft or as hard as you please, touch wherever you like.” Okay. Well. It takes all kinds, I guess? If that was what he wanted, I wasn’t exactly in any position to judge. So, I spread my legs, not very wide, but more a vague sprawl, like how it’d be if I were just sitting naturally.

                After that, it went… strangely simply. I tipped my head back and shut my eyes, my hand falling naturally where I wanted it, around myself, loose and careful. The other curled into the cushion beside me, gripping hard and tight, a way to keep myself grounded and under control. I started slow, gently up and down, a twist here and there, but I figured out pretty quickly that that wouldn’t be enough.    

                My thumb found the head began to rub back and forth softly, the sensation making my toes curl into the carpet and a sound attempt to fight its way out of my throat, but I kept it locked away by biting at my lips hard. I heard the sound of a zipper, the swish of fabric, a muffled almost-groan, but it all felt somehow far away and unimportant behind my closed eyes. I squeezed myself a little tighter, my legs falling farther open, loose and pliant. Slowly, ever so slowly, I began to totally relax and let myself get engrossed in the motion of my hand, the pressure, the pleasure. My hips started to move with the movement, the cool room suddenly growing warm and comfortable, my mind floating away from the rest of me as my breath began to come in heavy pants. Too damn long, something inside me whispered, and I was so close, right there, but then a ragged voice brought me quickly back to myself.

                “Stop, stop, Harry, please, not yet. Don’t come yet. Squeeze the base, not too hard, just-,” he paused for a second, and I did what he asked, the action once more so thoughtless that it had me a little worried. “Yeah, good. I want… have you ever fingered yourself?” he asked, a sharp edge of want to his voice. I didn’t trust my own voice, so I just shook my head in response. “Alright, just… suck your fingers, a little.”

                The hand clutched in the cushion uncurled and drifted to my mouth, which was already a little open with how I’d been breathing, and I slipped them inside. I can’t imagine I did anything all that impressive, but apparently John liked it because I could hear barely there curses, hisses, and groans slipping by his lips, the sound of it harsh in the air. “Good, that’s good, yes, Harry, on your knees, please, so you can reach.” I could basically get the idea, so I shifted myself around carefully, my head propped on the arm of the couch, and slipped one of my own fingers inside myself apprehensively. John couldn’t hold back the sound at that, and the shock of it made me jolt a little.

                The first thing I can think to describe it as was weird. Not painful or anything, more a slight stretch, maybe a distant burn like after a good run, but not exactly amazing either. Still, apparently John wanted to see this, and considering he was the one who wanted to watch, I was willing to try. So, one hand still around my dick, jerking slow, careful not to give myself too much, and moved my fingers as best I could with the weird angle.

                And that was when it happened. I hit something inside me that made me see white behind my eyes, made me make this super embarrassing keening sound. My legs opened so much that there was a serious danger of me falling off the damn couch. “There you go,” he mumbled, “that’s it,” like he was encouraging me, like he was afraid I’d get scared and run, stop. “So pretty, Harry, you don’t even know. Open your eyes for me, hm? Open your eyes and look at me.” I shook my head, instead moving my finger again and even going so far as to slip another inside. There, there was the slight twinge of pain, the ache, but another rub of that place made me forget that quickly enough. My hips couldn’t seem to decide if they wanted to go towards my fingers or my hand, but I finally managed to pick up some kind of rhythm between them all that worked for me, made it that much better.

                I couldn’t look at him, though. He’d told me to pretend he wasn’t there, and that was basically what was allowing me to do this, the idea that no one could see me. If I saw him there, saw him looking, there was no guarantee that I wouldn’t bolt. I was embarrassed, I was confused, and looking at him sure as hell wouldn’t help that.

                “Look at me,” he tried again, “Christ, you’re gorgeous like that, flushed and ready for it. I can hardly think straight for it, for how you look. Haven’t you always wanted to see me without my control? You could see it now, Harry, all for you.” I shook my head again, managed something like a faint, “Nuh-uh,” and buried myself deeper into what I was doing. The third finger made me almost scream, and I’d probably have come from it if not for another squeeze at the base of myself. I did have to go totally still, though, both of my hands, my hips, but I was shaking hard nonetheless, and the shaking, of course, moved the fingers inside me, sometimes putting them so close to that one place that I was aching with the want of it.

                “Look, Harry, please. Just once.” And I had to, I did, I don’t know why. I turned my face back towards him and opened my eyes, and there he was, his own dick in his hand even though his pants were still on, his hand jerking harder than I would’ve thought would be pleasurable, his own skin faintly pinker than usual, his eyes alight with hunger, with arousal, and then I was fighting not to come again, desperate on my couch. “Good boy,” he mumbled, smirking, “Now, make yourself come. Keep your eyes on me, though, the whole time, if you can manage.” That was probably the easiest request he’d ever made of me, because it only took one more twist of the hand around my cock, one more caress of the place I’d found within myself, and I was coming hard, choking on a cry, my back arching so much that it almost hurt, but then he was beside me, his hand stroking down my spine and helping me sit upright again even though he hadn’t come yet. Magic flowed from me in thick, heady waves, and I could only imagine that I’d blown the power in my upstairs neighbors’ apartment, and destroyed John’s phone. I also couldn’t really bring myself to feel bad for it, though, at least not just yet; it’d been a long time since I’d felt that good, and the fact that no one had touched me but me made it really odd.

                And all John had done was watch. He hadn’t pushed me, beyond helping me out a little, giving me a touch of direction. He deserved something more than a continuing hard on for that. I reached for him at that thought, but he slapped my hand away with a sharp hiss.

                “Why not?” I mumbled, sex-drunk and feeling like I’d just been dipped in pleasure. “Obviously watching wasn’t enough for you, so let me finish you off. It’s only fair.” He laughed, the sound wrecked from his lips, and he shook his head.

                “It was plenty, and I can promise that I’ll have plenty of enjoyment later from those visuals, but I’ve had enough for the time being, as, obviously, have you.” I shrugged.

                “Well, I’m obviously not going to get hard again, but let me do _something_. Once again, no one I’ve slept with has left unhappy, so just-,” he cut me off again, the bastard.

                “I don’t want to push you. You’re still not in the right headspace to make a decision like that.”

                “Stop treating me like I’m an idiot, Marcone. Hell’s Bells, I’m a grown man, so tell me what you want me to fucking do to make you come.” He chuckled, breathy, loose, and nodded.

                “Suck me?” The way he said it made me think that he was certain that I’d refuse. But, well, I was in a good mood, and I’d already done a lot of stupid stuff that day, so I figured one more thing couldn’t hurt. I stood up and had him sit about where I’d been, and dropped to my knees between his legs. I’m sure it didn’t look too graceful, by the way; it’s not nearly as easy as Arturo’s people made it look in their movies. I took him in my hand (thicker than me, maybe a little shorter, although it wasn’t like I had a ruler with me to check or anything, nor was it like I cared enough to even if I did) and regarded him maybe a little mulishly. This was the closest I’d ever come to a dick that wasn’t mine, and admittedly I was a touch lost. Still, once again, I was pretty sure I could figure it out, so I just dropped down and took as much as I could into my mouth.

                I wasn’t expecting the hands in my hair right after that, tight and pulling just a little, nor was I expecting his hips to jerk up and shove him further down my throat, but that would be exactly what happened. What I expected even less, though, was that he came immediately after that, hard and in my mouth, no warning. I choked on it, a little, but swallowed anyhow as I pulled away, and more hit my face as a result, dripped down the side of my mouth and over my lips. I licked them distantly and glared up at him. I’d had him in my mouth such a short amount of time that I could hardly even recall what the taste was like.

                “Really?” I asked, and if I hadn’t have known better, I’d have said he looked embarrassed by that. His hands shook a little where they were gripped in my hair.

                “Apologies. I wasn’t… I didn’t expect it would feel quite like that.” I snorted.

                “Wow. I am never letting you forget this, you know that, right?” He sighed, carefully tucking himself away and standing as he pulled me to my own feet.

                “I can only imagine as much.”

                “I mean, I haven’t had sex in over six months, and I lasted as long as I did. What’s your excuse?”

                “You’re good. You put on an excellent show without even meaning to, without even knowing you’re doing it. Your mouth feels wonderful.” He swiped his thumb over my cheek, then slid it into my mouth before I could say anything about it, but I just rolled my eyes and licked it clean anyway.

                “Smarmy bastard,” I said, when he removed his finger, and he nodded.

                “I try. I’ll call you tomorrow, yes?” I nodded.

                “Yeah. I’ll wait for it.” He let his hand run down my arm as he left, a warm smile on his face.

                “I love you, Harry.” I thought about that, and finally, I smiled back at him. I’d never met someone like him before, someone who could make me laugh just as easily as he could get me roaring mad. I’d always wanted to see other sides of him, though, to get to know him and see what made him tick. He was a moral man, and he was a criminal. He could be as kind and genteel as he was ruthless. People had always called me a walking contradiction, but I was sure that those people had never met him. There was a lot more about him to see, to learn, to discover, and I wanted to do it. I wanted to be with him. It’d take compromise, I knew that, but everything good in my life had seemed to require a little (or a lot) of that. I could manage. After all, I’d done things way more impossible than have a relationship with a John Marcone before. Honestly the only real problem would be to tell my friends that. The thought made me laugh, just a little.

                “I love you too, John.” I don’t think I’ve ever had so passionate a kiss as the one I got just then. I probably haven’t since, either, but it has been proven multiple times that John can so last longer than me without coming, because of course he had to prove that after the blowjob thing, the weird son of a bitch.

                By the way, even after all the good that has come of it, the aphrodisiac thing? Yeah, it still wasn’t my fault. But maybe I do owe Bob, Molly, the bottle, and the floor a thank you for it now.


End file.
